Loving the Odds (What Happens in Vegas)

by Stefanie London

  “Were any of the other hotels designated for spill over?” Lance asked.

  “I know a group of ladies went over to the Vdara earlier today but I think they were booked out, too. You could try the Paris hotel.”

  “Thank you.” Lance steered Bailey away from the desk.

  “We should have checked before we went shopping.” She glared at the bag in her hand containing a change of clothes she’d purchased at the most affordable boutique they’d been able to find.

  “Look, we’ve got two options. We can either make our way down the Strip to find you a room or we can head up to mine and I’ll call room service to get a cot.”

  “Your room?” She swallowed and tried not to notice how her pulse fluttered like butterfly wings in her throat.

  “I promise that I will be a total gentleman and give you first use of the shower.” Lance pressed his hands to his chest and even though his tone was that of a joker, it made her feel more at ease. “But if you want to traipse around until we find you your own room, then we can do that instead. It’s your call.”

  Her feet were already throbbing from all the walking around she’d done since she arrived and right now the idea of a shower and change of clothes sounded heavenly. She bit down on her lip. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t rely on her gut anymore when it came to trusting people, but what else did she have?

  Lance didn’t raise any red flags as far as safety was concerned. And it was only for one night.

  “I’m not a stalker or a bunny boiler,” he added.

  Bailey toyed with the decision for a moment longer. “Fine. Your room it is. And I’m going to take you up on that offer for first dibs on the shower.”

  He held out his arm and she suppressed a shiver as she slipped her own over the crook of his elbow. “Be my guest.”

  …

  Lance paced the length of the hotel room. The sound of rushing water filtered in from the bathroom and it was all he could do not to imagine what Bailey looked like under her prim and proper office attire.

  Instead, he tried to focus on how he was going to use this strange turn of events to his advantage. Having her by his side would show Janet that he was capable of maintaining a relationship—especially since she’d called relationships out as an indicator of responsibility. Then there was the fact that Bailey was…well, Bailey. He might see her as a sex-bomb wolf in sheep’s clothing, but he knew that most people wouldn’t look past the thick-rimmed glasses and logical attitude.

  In fact, he was counting on it.

  He’d slip in a casual comment about them looking to seal the deal with a ring and drop hints about babies. Janet wouldn’t be able to view him as a manipulative playboy and then, once she’d softened up to him, he’d offer an olive branch. Wipe the slate clean. Let bygones be bygones and all that crap.

  If he was a more devious guy he might have orchestrated this plan on his own, but luckily for him the gods were lending a helping hand. Then he’d repay Bailey by giving her the opportunity to get even with her ex. What could possibly go wrong?

  “Lance?” Bailey came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

  Her long dark hair was twisted into a knot on top of her head and water ran in rivulets down her neck. The droplets chased one another as they raced toward her collarbone and the valley between her breasts. The towel stopped mid-thigh, leaving plenty of pale creamy skin for his eyes to latch onto. A jolt of arousal went through him so hard that he was sure he’d short circuited part of his brain.

  What are a few brain cells between friends?

  “I realized that I don’t have anything to sleep in.” Without any traces of makeup her eyes looked like big blue saucers. “I don’t suppose the hotel provided any complimentary pajamas?”

  It wasn’t a trick question, but his brain seemed to be stuck on all that water-dotted skin. His mind sputtered like a lawnmower failing to start.

  “Maybe I should call the concierge.” She looked at him strangely and his brain finally kicked into gear.

  “It’s fine. You can borrow a T-shirt.” He turned, shaking his head at how fast his heart was hammering inside his chest. He grabbed a soft gray tee from his luggage and handed it over. “Hopefully that’s comfortable.”

  Her fingers grazed his as she took the T-shirt from him, sparks shooting up his arm and sending an arrow of heat straight down to his cock.

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  “I ordered some room service for us.” He pretended to inspect an email on his phone, not daring to look up lest his body decide to transition from half-mast to full-blown erection. He cursed the lightweight tracksuit pants he’d decided to wear. They hid nothing. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I got a bit of everything.”

  “I think you’ve restored my faith in human kind, Lance Fulton,” she said. “Thank you.”

  He made the mistake of looking up then, the genuine appreciation in her smile like the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. As she sauntered back into the bathroom, her trim hips swinging under the fluffy white cotton, his whole body coiled up like a spring. Every muscle tensed and ached for her. But there was one giant roadblock between what he should do and what he wanted to do.

  His boss might not believe it—hell, his own family might not believe it—but he was a moral guy. One who never wanted to prey on anyone in a moment of weakness.

  The ironic thing was that he always ended relationships with good intent. But apparently that made him a “playboy”—wasn’t that the word Janet had thrown at him? Like it was totally inconceivable that her daughter had made the first move. Part of him had wanted to tell her that not only had her daughter made the first move, but she’d also made the second, third, fourth, and beyond.

  But pettiness, he’d discovered, was a poison. So he’d kept that information to himself.

  “This is literally the comfiest T-shirt I have ever worn,” Bailey announced as she returned from the bathroom, her clothing folded into a neat pile in her hands.

  The cotton draped over her, covering the tops of her thighs and flowing freely over her body. It shifted as she walked, her breasts bouncing and the points of her nipples pressing against the fabric in the most enticing way.

  His mouth ran dry as she bent forward slightly, placing the pile of clothes down on the brightly patterned armchair, causing the fabric to ride up the backs of her thighs. Any farther and he’d get a peek at the cotton of her panties…if she was wearing any, that was.

  Lust slammed into him and he shifted to try and hide the effect she had on him.

  “And I’m not one of those people who uses literally when they mean figuratively,” she added.

  “I’m sure you use the correct word at all times.” His lip twitched but he managed to keep a straight face.

  “Oh, I try to. Grammar is very important and not enough people take care with it.” She paused. “Hang on; you’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

  “Me, never.” He put a hand to his chest in mock sincerity. “I’m a total gentleman.”

  The fine arch of her brows said it all. “Riiiight.”

  “You wound me.”

  She laughed. “Want me to kiss it better?”

  It was a saying, a colloquialism…he knew that. But those six little words managed to suck all the air out of his lungs and disconnect his body from his brain. He stepped forward and her breath hitched. The blacks of her pupils ate away at the electric rim of blue around them.

  “What did you say, Bailey?” His voice came out roughhewn. Edgy.

  “I just meant…” She sucked in a breath and mashed her lips together.

  Desperate desire rushed through him. He wanted to press his lips to her throat and see if her pulse was racing the same as his. What would it be like to drag his lips across her skin? Would she taste as clean and fresh as she smelled?

  “It was a joke,” she whispered. Her tongue darted out to touch the corner of her mouth and that flash of pink totally undid him. “I think.”<
br />
  The space shrunk between them as he closed in. “You think?”

  “I don’t know.” She stood rooted to the ground. “What if it wasn’t?”

  “Are you saying you want to kiss me, Bailey?”

  Her lips parted as if in invitation and her hands came up to his chest automatically. The soft, feathery touch of her fingers through his T-shirt stoked the fire inside him. She moved her hands over his pecs and up to his shoulders. The movement was gentle, but passion flickered across her face like a flame.

  “I’m still deciding.” She pressed her sweet little body against him, her bare thighs lining up with his.

  The delicate swirl of her hips forced his blood south. He was hard as fucking steel. “You’re still deciding?”

  “Well, I don’t usually kiss random men. Actually, I’ve never been one to kiss much and there’s a chance I may not be good at it.” Her brows creased but her hands fisted into the cotton of his T-shirt. “At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

  “You’re giving me some very mixed signals right now.” His face hovered inches from hers, their breath mingling in the air between them.

  “I want to kiss you, but…” Her lips quivered. “I’m scared.”

  “Why don’t we take it slow?” Lance brushed his mouth over hers. It was more a whisper than a kiss. “Glacial, even.”

  “Glacial,” she sighed as he slid his hands up the back of her neck to cradle her head. “I like that.”

  His thumbs stroked her ears as he kissed one corner of her mouth and then the other. Slow. Soft. Her fresh scent curled around him.

  “That feels good,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut.

  He traced his tongue along the seam of her mouth and she opened for him, her lips glistening and shiny like ripe fruit. When he leaned in again, her tongue came out to meet his and he moaned into her mouth.

  “God, Bailey. You taste so sweet.”

  “Hmmm,” she hummed in agreement.

  Her tongue slid over his, exploring. Tasting. Her lips were pillowy, luscious. His hands dropped to her back, sliding down the soft cotton that smelled of him and her together. Curving over the swell of her buttocks, he pulled her closer. His cock throbbed in time with his heartbeat, creating an insistent thrum of desire.

  “Oh,” she gasped as he pressed against her.

  “See what you do to me, Bailey.” He peppered kisses along her jaw. “You’ve got me so goddamn hard.”

  “Yes, I can feel that.” Her voice had taken on a dream-like quality. “It’s very hard.”

  The combination of her innocent shock and the heat of her kiss were like the headiest of drugs. He wanted to drown in the taste of her, in the heat of her. Holding her tight, he backed them up until she hit the armchair. She sat on the arm and he nudged her legs apart with his thigh.

  He hadn’t known how she would react, but the low, keening moan that came from the back of her throat was the ultimate reward. Her hips rolled and she pressed her sex against his thigh.

  “I have to feel you,” he growled, slipping a hand under the hem of the T-shirt.

  Warm skin greeted his palm and he traced her, drawing a line over her stomach and ribcage until the weight of her breast molded into his touch. The hard press of her nipple drew his attention and he swirled the heel of his palm against it in slow circles.

  “Lance,” she sighed into his mouth. “Oh my…this does not feel glacial.”

  No, it certainly did not. He brushed his thumb lightly over her nipple and she gasped, her hips jerking against his leg. Her fists had released their hold on his T-shirt and were making their way down to the waistband of his tracksuit pants.

  Dear God, yes!

  A sharp knock at the door made Bailey jump so hard that she teetered backward and nearly fell off the seat. He righted her and stepped away, raking a hand through his hair.

  “Room service,” announced the voice on the other side of the door.

  Chapter Five

  Bailey touched her fingertips to her cheeks. Her skin was fever-like, hot and tender, and that was only the outside. Inside, her bones felt like marshmallows and her stomach was doing more summersaults than a circus performer.

  And that was only a kiss…

  Lance’s voice sounded from the door as he greeted the room service attendant and carried the tray containing their dinner into the room. If she’d been attracted to him before, being exposed to his talented hands and tongue made her want to lay at his feet and offer herself up. Even the way he walked across the room, the fluidity of his stride and the ease at which he moved around, was utterly tempting.

  “I got some sliders, a few satay skewers, some fries, fruit, these little cake”—he held up a petit four—“things.”

  “Thanks.” It was a miracle she’d been able to find her voice to respond.

  Her hands fluttered at the hem of his T-shirt. Wearing it made her feel as if he was embracing her again, wrapping her up in his deliciously rich, masculine scent. Holding her tight against him so she could feel every hard plane, every bump, every ridge.

  There’s no need to get all hormonal about a kiss. It’s not a big deal.

  But it was a big deal and now Lance was acting like nothing had happened between them. She drew a deep breath to slow the beating of her heart.

  “There are a few drinks in the mini bar.” He paused and looked at her, his brows creasing when he saw that she hadn’t moved an inch. “Help yourself to whatever you like.”

  A horrible thought zinged across her brain. What if she was a terrible kisser? What if he’d been saved by the bell and now he was focusing on the food because the thought of kissing her again was grossing him out?

  What if she kissed like a wet fish?

  She pushed her glasses farther up her nose and swallowed the doubts. Freaking out about a kiss wouldn’t solve anything and she was under no obligation to care about what Lance thought—of her kissing ability or anything else. Her stomach grumbled in response.

  He handed her a plate and let her have first pick of the food while he pulled a half-bottle of wine from the fridge. “Would you like some wine?”

  “That’s going to cost a fortune. Did you know that alcohol is sometimes marked up over three hundred and fifty percent in hotel minibars compared to what you would pay in a store?” She selected a slider with chicken and bacon in it and put it on her plate. “Now a lot of hotels are getting rid of minibars because of the high instances of theft.”

  He raised a brow. “So was that a yes on the wine?”

  “Please. I love wine.”

  He chuckled as he opened the bottle and poured two glasses. “I’m glad we ran into each other.”

  “Really?” She paused as her hand hovered over the desserts. Okay, so maybe he didn’t think she was a terrible kisser.

  “It’s certainly made the convention more interesting. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job but things at the office have been a little…” He tilted his head as if considering the best option.

  “Awkward?”

  “I was going to say Game of Thrones.” He carried the wine glasses over to the small coffee table by the window. “I feel like I’m Jon Snow when—”

  “No spoilers! I’m not up to date.” She took one of the two armchairs—boldly patterned with purple, green, and white diamonds—and balanced her plate in her lap. “Seriously, you try to have a normal conversation and then wham! someone spoils you. Totally uncool.”

  “How are you not caught up?” The clacking of plates moving sounded behind her and he reappeared a moment later with his meal.

  “I work late.” Her teeth sank into the soft bun of the slider and the rich flavors burst in her mouth.

  “You must have some down time. It’s only on once a week.”

  “I’m at the office most nights until after eight-thirty. Then, by the time I get home and think about eating something for dinner, I’m too tired for TV.” She reached for her wine glass. “And on the weekends I’m trying t
o do all the stuff I didn’t have time do during the week, like laundry, vacuuming, paying bills.”

  God, could her life sound any more pathetic? She’d basically admitted to Lance that she was a reclusive cat lady minus the cats. Maybe this was why she couldn’t seem to hold down a steady relationship. It wasn’t only Julian who’d given up on her. She’d had two serious boyfriends before him and she’d been the dumpee every single time.

  “Then you throw all that aside to come to Vegas on a whim?”

  “It wasn’t a whim. I figured that the only way I would get the watch back would be if I caught Julian by surprise. It was a risk, but not a whim.” She sipped her wine. “I weighed the pro and cons. I made a budget and planned how to get here.”

  “You should try following a whim some time.” His eyes shifted to gray in the room’s dim lighting. Like the color of the sky right before a storm rolled in. “You might have fun.”

  “I don’t think so.” She took another bite of her slider and chewed. “I like to know that if things go wrong, I have a plan B and you can’t have that if you don’t have a plan A.”

  “You’ll miss out on some amazing opportunities,” he warned, taking a sip of his wine.

  She wondered how it would taste on his lips, mingling with his unique flavor. Would his kiss be cold, chilled by the wine? Or would he be hot, burning up the alcohol and leaving only the sweet taste of grapes?

  What would have happened if they weren’t interrupted?

  A pulsing heat swept through her. She couldn’t visualize what they would look like together, since her experience was limited to dark rooms. But her body ached where she imagined his hands. His lips.

  She may not be able to see it in her mind, but she could most definitely feel it.

  Since when do you have sex on the brain? Stop acting like a starved animal.

  “Has acting impulsively worked out for you?” she said, shaking off the temptation.

  “I stand by my choices.” He placed the wineglass back on the table.

  “But you said earlier that you had a bad reputation when you were young. Surely you regret whatever it was that gave you that reputation?”